When the Lights are Low
by EmRose92
Summary: He does not say her name. He never says her name. But sometimes he remembers her when he is all alone and the TARDIS is humming quietly underneath his fingers and Amy and Rory have gone to bed. A little bit of Eleven/Rose, but mostly Ten/Rose.


I've been thinking about Eleven and Rose lately, wondering how they'd interact, and this came out of my fingers onto the page. I looked at it and decided it wasn't horrible, and that I should publish it here. So here it is. I've never written Doctor Who before, so if it's completely off please let me know.

This piece likes Rose, because I like Rose. But I don't like Rose with Eleven except for stuff like this. Rose belongs to Ten (and Nine). But I still wish Eleven would mention her or reference her more (I think we've heard her mentioned what, three times? But who's counting?), and this is what came from that wish. Plus it's late at night. Plus, none of you actually care about this note at all.

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He still thinks of her sometimes, when he's alone. When Amy and Rory have gone off to bed and he's left staring at the low, throbbing lights of the TARDIS console. He usually starts by talking to his lady, murmuring softly to her as he tinkers, and sometimes he ends up winding the entire night away fiddling with her, clambering around underneath and trying not to wake Amy, because she's a light sleeper. Sometimes, though, he starts by talking to his sexy lady, and then he's not talking to her at all, but to _her_.

He does not say her name. He never says her name.

He does not want to pinpoint why, exactly, but he _tells_ himself it is because that life, the life with her, is past. He is no longer a broad, big-eared man with a Northern accent full of fire and fury and guilt, nor is he a tall, skinny, maniacally energetic man with a fondness for pinstripes and sideburns. No, now he is a more average-shaped man with an admittedly over-large chin and a penchant for bowties and tweed, and he has got everyone and everything he needs asleep in the bedroom upstairs.

He no longer needs her.

She was part of him once…no, twice…but now she is gone, and he has Amy and Rory, and they are more than enough for one Time Lord to handle.

But still, he whispers softly to the TARDIS and a ghost whispers back, and he replies to her unconsciously.

_Where are we going next, Doctor? You promised me Barcelona._

"We'll go to Barcelona," he says. "I did promise, didn't I?"

_But we've got time. All the time in the whole universe. Because nothing is gonna come between you and me. Right, Doctor? _

"Right."

_They can try to split us up but they never will. We're all right, aren't we?_

"We're all right…"

He pulls himself away from her, and walks around the console to sit in his worn, leather chair, the one he has asked the TARDIS to never remove, no matter what new desktop theme she decides to try. He crosses one leg over the other and folds his hands in his lap and stares at the console without really seeing it.

Because they weren't all right.

And his memories of her are fading. He doesn't know if that is because of Amy and her fire and passion and Rory with his hesitant wonder or if it was because he wants her gone. "Maybe, just maybe, the memories still…hurt."

_Memories, Doctor? But you don't need to remember, not when I'm right here. And I'm never gonna leave. I promise._

"But you did. And I did. And that's the way it always goes," he whispers. "Someone always leaves. Someone must always leave." And his hearts ache, and he rubs at his chest fiercely as if it will drive the faint, familiar pain away.

_Not me. _

"Even you."

He stands, but he has nowhere to go, nowhere to escape the memories of her warm brown eyes, the way she bit her tongue when she laughed at him, the feel of her hand in his, how she would sulk when he made her jealous, how she pulled him from his melancholy and molded him into a man free of the weight of a double genocide…

_Doctor, I made my choice…_

"…and you're never going to leave me. I know, I know. But you _did_, you _did_, and you're gone and now I've moved on."

He is a different man now, and he _has_ moved on. The memories of her will always be a part of him, but he has changed. He has the same soul, the same two hearts beating in his chest, but it is more than his face that has changed. Who he is now is not who he was, and who he is now is a little in love with Amy and Rory Pond and what they have given him, and who he is now is not in love with _her_.

Who he was, last time, was born out of her love and out of his love for her.

Who he was, last time, was made to run with her, was made to catch her when she fell and love her for the way she made him laugh and feel young and happy again.

Who he was, last time, loved her dogged loyalty and her jealousy and the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him.

Who he was, last time, wanted nothing more than to hold her tightly in his arms and run with her through all of space and time forever and ever.

_I made my choice._

Who he is now is not that man.

Now he runs among the stars with Amelia Pond.

And Amelia Pond runs with him, and together with Rory they make a family.

He has never had a family before, not like them, and as he thinks of them now they bring a smile to his lips.

"Amy Pond," he whispers. The Girl Who Waited, waited for him, the girl who never gave up. "I began this life with you."

He begins to tinker again, and he glances up now and again and smiles for Amy and Rory, and when he smiles for them he smiles for Martha Jones and Donna Noble and Sarah Jane Smith and all the others too.

But he, here and now…all he needs is asleep upstairs. And he knows as long as they are with him, he will need nothing else. Because this self, this time, was made for them and them alone, and the pains of all his other lives and loves have dulled. They are always and forever a part of him, but they are no longer who he is.

And yet he still thinks of her sometimes, late at night, when he is alone.

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Review?


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